"𝚟𝚒𝚡𝚎𝚗" | 𝚙. 𝚓𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜𝚘𝚗

𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛, 𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎

Sally Jackson Teaches Minors How To Fight Minotaurs

AND

We Play Pinochle With a Latin Teacher/Horse(?)

third person omniscient

-

THEY TORE THROUGH the night along dark country roads. Wind slammed against the Camaro. Rain lashed the windshield. Percy didn't know how his mom could see anything, but she kept her foot on the gas. 

Every time there was a flash of lightning, Percy looked at Grover sitting, squeezed between him and Stelle, and wondered if he'd gone insane, or if he was wearing some kind of shag-carpet pants.

But, no, the smell was one he remembered from kindergarten field trips to the petting zoo- lanolin, like from wool. The smell of a wet barnyard animal. 

All he could think to say was, "So... you and my mom know each other?" He mentally face-palmed.

Grover's eyes flitted to the rearview mirror, though there were no cars behind them. "Not exactly," he said. "I mean, we've never met in person. But she knew I was watching you."

"Watching him?" Stelle interjected, perplexed.

"Keeping tabs on him. Making sure you guys were okay. But I wasn't faking being your friend." He added hastily. "I am your friend, I promise."

"Uh..." Percy started, "What exactly are you?"

"Seriously, Percy?"

"Does that really matter right now?" Grover muttered, turning to look back.

Percy swelled with indignation, "Uhm, yes it does! Stelle! From the waist down, our best friend is a donkey-"

Grover let out a sharp, throaty,"Blaa-ha-ha!"

"Uh... excuse you?" Stelle said.

At first, Stelle had thought that it was a nervous, slightly strangled, laugh. Now, she realized that it was more of a irritated bleat, which disturbed her. A lot.

"Goat!" He cried.

"What?" Percy craned his head to stare at him with a dumb look.

"I'm a goat from the waist down, not a donkey!"

"I beg your absolute finest pardon?"

"Blaa-ha-ha! Some satyrs would trample you underhoof for such an insult!" Grover stamped his feet, sorry, hoof agitatedly.

Stelle's voice raised an octave as she realized what Grover was. "Satyrs? Grover, why didn't you tell us?!"

Percy held up his hands. "Pause. Satyrs, as in, Mr. Brunner's myths?"

"Were those old ladies at the fruit stand a myth, Percy? Was Mrs. Dodds a myth?" Grover shook his head.

"Aha! So you admit there was a Mrs. Dodds!" Percy accused, looking triumphant. Stelle groaned in frustration.

"Of course." Grover responded easily. The green-eyed boy deflated, not expecting such a quick admission. He looked at Estella with an 'oh' face.

"Percy, we know this! We have more serious problems!"

The weird bellowing noise rose up again somewhere behind them, closer than before. Whatever was chasing them was still on their trail. 

"Estelle is right, Percy." Sally said, "There's too much to explain and too little time. We just have to get you two to safety..." 

"Who's after some kids?" Stelle rubbed her throat in anxiety, listening for footsteps or the loud bellowing noise for some indication of who or what was after them.

"Oh, just the Lord of the Dead and a few of his blood-thirstiest minions." Grover said, obviously stiff miffed about the donkey comment.

"Grover!"

"Sorry, Mrs. Jackson. Could you drive faster, please?"

Percy tried to wrap his mind around what was happening, but he couldn't do it. He knew this wasn't a dream. He had no imagination. He could never dream up something this weird. Percy wished he was sitting next Stelle, so she could tell him something reassuring and he would know what was real.

But she wasn't seeming any better. Her face was pale and she seemed as nervous as his mom. She didn't even know what was coming, and maybe that was what scared her.

Percy's mom made a hard left. They swerved onto a narrower road, racing past darkened farmhouses and wooded hills and PICK YOUR OWN STRAWBERRIES signs on white picket fences.

"Where are we going?" Stelle's voice was strained and she was touching her neck a lot.

"The summer camp I told you guys about." Percy was getting more nervous than he already was; his mom's voice was just as tight as Stelle's, trying not to sound scared for their sakes. "The place your father wanted to send you, Percy."

"The place you didn't want me to go." Percy said, voice shaking.

"Please, dear." Sally begged, "This is hard enough. Please try to understand. You're in danger. Stelle's in danger. If Grover is with you guys, he's in danger as well."

Percy hesitated. He would do anything for his friends. "But... all because some old ladies cut some yarn?"

"Those weren't old ladies," Grover said, "Those were the Fates. Do you know what it means- the fact they appeared in front of you? They only do that when you're about to ... when someone's about to die."

"I'm gonna die?"

"Grover. Percy." Stelle groaned. "Please shut up. Don't talk about dying or I'm gonna be sick."

Sally suddenly jerked the wheel to the right, and they got a glimpse of a dark figure she'd swerved to avoid- a dark fluttering shape now lost behind them in the raging storm.

"Keep it down a little longer, Estelle... another mile, c'mon. Almost there. Please, please, please..." Sally muttered.

Percy felt himself lean forward, wanting to get there despite not knowing where there was.

Outside, nothing but rain and darkness- the kind of empty countryside you get way out on the tip of Long Island. Percy thought about Mrs. Dodds and the moment when she'd changed into the thing with pointed teeth and leathery wings. His limbs went numb from delayed shock. She really hadn't been human. She'd meant to kill them. 

Then Percy thought about Mr. Brunner ... and the sword he had thrown him. Before he could ask Grover about that, the hair rose on the back of his neck. There was a blinding flash, a jaw-rattling boom, and the car exploded. 

"Shit!" Stelle's voice cried out.

Percy could remember feeling weightless, like he was being crushed, fried, and hosed down at the same time.

'Mom. Stelle. Grover.'

The Chinese girl, however, had seen what happened. They swerved into a ditch. A shrill of adrenaline and terror entered her. She saw Grover hit his head, hard.

"Grover! Are you- euk-!"

Stelle had been winded from Grover's fist hitting her gut. She wheezed, feeling as though she couldn't breathe. She sat there, gasping, and wishing that she could just force he lungs to work normally.

As Percy peeled his forehead off the driver's seat, he said belatedly, "Ow."

"Percy!" Sally yelled.

"I-I'm okay." He sat up, frantically looking around.

Percy tried to shake off the daze. He wasn't dead (yet). The car hadn't really exploded. The driver's-side doors were wedged in the mud. The roof had cracked open like an eggshell and rain was pouring in. 

Lightning. That was the only explanation. They'd been blasted off the road. Next to him in the backseat, lay a big motionless lump. "Grover!"

"Fuck you too." Stelle rasped, holding her stomach and wincing. No worry going to her?

"Language." Sally said, though it was more reflex than what she was actually thinking about.

Blood was trickling out the side of Grover's mouth. Percy made distressed eye contact with her, looking downright miserable. He shook Grover's furry hip, swearing under his breath.

Then he groaned, "Food...", and Percy sighed in relief. Stelle let out a wobbly breath, turning to the door.

"Okay, okay... children, don't panic... we have to.." Sally said, as Stelle was mid-panic attack. Percy suddenly saw why. She had looked back.

In a flash of lightning, through the mud-spattered rear windshield, Percy saw a figure lumbering toward them on the shoulder of the road. The sight of it made his skin crawl. It was a dark silhouette of a huge guy, like a football player. He seemed to be holding a blanket over his head. His top half was bulky and fuzzy. His upraised hands made it look like he had horns. 

"Who is-?"

"Percy. Estelle." Sally said, dead serious, "Get out of the car."

Estelle pushed hastily against the passenger side door. With some effort, it opened.

"Run! See that big tree? That's the property line!"

It was hard to miss. Beyond the strawberry fields, atop a hill, stood a single, huge, pine tree.

"Get over that hill and you'll see a big farmhouse down in the valley. Run and don't look back. Yell for help. Don't stop until you reach the door." She said, speaking fast and clearly. It was terrifying.

"Mom, you're coming too." Percy said, face full of conviction.

Her face was pale and as sad as it was when she looked at the ocean.

"Perce-" Stelle grabbed his arm, but he yanked it away. She pressed her mouth into a line, letting him say his piece.

"No! You're going with us, Mom." He insisted, "Help us carry Grover."

"Food!" Grover moaned, louder than before.

The man with the blanket on his head kept coming toward us, making his grunting, snorting noises. As he got closer, Percy realized he couldn't be holding a blanket over his head, because his hands- huge meaty hands- were swinging at his sides.

There was no blanket. Meaning the bulky, fuzzy mass that was too big to be his head... was his head. And the points that looked like horns...

Sally just shook her head, looking tired and sad. "He doesn't want us. He wants you two."

"But..."

"We don't have time, Percy. Go, please."

Percy got mad, then—mad at his mother, at Grover the goat, at the thing with horns that was lumbering toward them slowly and deliberately like a bull. 

As Stelle hopped out into the rain, Percy climbed across Grover. "We're going together. Come on, Mom." 

With Percy's help, Stelle pulled Grover out. He was light, but Stelle wouldn't be able to run quickly had not Percy and Sally come to her aid. Sally took Grover from her hands and they draped his arms over their shoulders.

As they stumbled through the slick wet, waist high grass towards the tree, Stelle didn't dare look back. She moved much more quickly than the Jacksons, being small and nimble, as well as not being weighted down by Grover.

Percy, however, did look back. The monster was seven feet tall, easy, and looked as though he could take an entire NFL team with an arm tied behind it's back. It was all muscle, beneath the vein-webbed skin, and things only got scarier the higher you looked.

His neck was a mass of muscle and fur leading up to his enormous head, which had a snout as long as Percy's arm, snotty nostrils with a gleaming brass ring, cruel black eyes, and horns- enormous black-and-white horns with points you just couldn't get from an electric sharpener. 

He recognized the monster, all right. It had been in one of the first stories Mr. Brunner told his class. But it couldn't be real. 

"That's-" Percy began, trying to blink rain out of his eyes.

"Pasiphae's son." His mother said, "I wish I'd known how much they wanted to kill you two."

Stelle was still unsure on what exactly they were hunting them for. Nothing they had ever done was bad enough for all this.

"But that's the Mi-" Percy stammered, being cut off again.

"Don't say his name!" Sally warned, "Names have power."

The pine tree was still way too far. Stelle was a bit closer, but 100 yards is too much when a bull man is 50 feet away. Her heart hammered in her chest, as she prayed to someone, anyone, that it wouldn't see them.

Percy glanced back again. The bull-man hunched over our car, looking in the windows—or not looking, exactly. More like snuffling, nuzzling. Percy wasn't sure why he bothered, they were so close.

"Food?" Grover groaned out.

Percy shushed him quickly. Stelle was looking back, face ashen.

"Mom? What's he doing..?" He whispered.

"His sight and hearing are terrible. He goes by smell," She stepped carefully forward, shifting Grover's arm on her shoulder, "But he'll figure out where we are soon enough."

As if on cue, the bull-man bellowed in rage. He picked up Gabe's Camaro by the torn roof, the chassis creaking and groaning. He raised the car over his head and threw it down the road. It slammed into the wet asphalt and skidded in a shower of sparks for about half a mile before coming to a stop. The gas tank exploded. 

Stelle laughed weakly despite her paralyzing fear.

'Not a scratch,' Percy remembered Gabe saying.

Oops.

"Children," His mom said, "When he sees us, he'll charge. Wait until the last second, and then jump out of the way— directly sideways. He can't change directions very well once he's charging. Do you understand?"

'No,' Stelle thought, 'I don't understand any of this.'

Instead, Stelle crouched. She didn't even want to be seen. If she did, she knew she would be dead meat. Her timing was absolutely terrible. Hoping that the rain somehow covered her scent and that the grass obscured her well enough, she pressed onwards.

A bellow of rage. The bull-man started tromping uphill. He'd seen them.

A few more yards. The pine tree was only a few yards away, but it was steeper, muddier, and she was losing her footing.

"Please please please please please please please please please please-" She muttered, desperate to make it across the property line and sprint down the hill.

She was ashamed to say that, no, the Jacksons didn't cross her mind. Her sense of self-preservation was strong and controlled her when fear was present.

As she scrambled across, making it 1/4 downhill, Percy's voice rang out. "MOM!"

'Ms. Sally.' Against her better judgement, she stopped and turned back. Her best friend's mom was in danger. As she raced back, she saw Percy waving his red rain jacket at the bull-man.

"Hey!" Percy yelled, "Hey stupid! Ground beef!

Grover way laying helpless on the grass. Where was Percy's mom? Where was she?

Anger had replaced Percy's fear. Newfound strength burned in his limbs- the same rush of energy he'd gotten when Mrs. Dodds grew talons and lunged at Stelle.

He had an idea- a stupid idea, but better than no idea at all. He put his back to the big pine tree and waved his red jacket in front of the bull-man, thinking he'd jump out of the way at the last moment.  

It didn't happen like that.

The bull-man charged too fast, his arms out to grab him whichever way Percy tried to dodge. 

Time slowed down. Stelle, in her panic, had taken off her shoe and thrown it at the Minotaur, bonking it on the snout.

It staggered for just a moment. Percy's legs tensed. This was his chance. He couldn't jump sideways, so he leaped straight up, kicking off from the creature's head, using it as a springboard, turning in midair, and landing on his neck. 

The bull-man charged straight into the tree, the impact nearly knocking Percy's teeth out.

The bull-man staggered around, trying to shake him. Percy locked his arms around his horns to keep from being thrown. Thunder and lightning were still going strong. The rain was in his eyes. The smell of rotten meat burned his nostrils.

The monster shook himself around and bucked like a rodeo bull. He should have just backed up into the tree and smashed Percy flat, but he was starting to realize that this thing had only one gear: forward. 

Stelle took her chance and went back for Grover, feeling like an idiot for risking her life like this. She tried dragging him over, gritting her teeth as perspiration and rain slid down her forehead.

"Food!" Grover said loudly. Stelle nearly killed him herself, right there and then. The Minotaur let out a roar, and wheeled towards them. He pawed the ground and got ready to charge.

Percy thought about how he had squeezed the life out of his mother, made her disappear in a flash of light, and rage filled him like high-octane fuel. 'You're not taking another person from me tonight.'

 He got both hands around one horn and pulled backward with all his might. The monster tensed, gave a surprised grunt, then- snap!

The bull-man screamed and flung him through the air. Percy landed flat on my back in the grass. His head smacked against a rock. When he sat up, my vision was blurry, but he had a horn in his hands, a ragged bone weapon the size of a knife. 

"Percy!" Stelle screamed, "Give it here!"

Dazed, Percy made an attempt to throw it to Stelle. It landed near her, in the grass, as she dove to get it. The monster charged at her when she came back up, the horn in her hands.

Without thinking, she rolled to the side, underneath the meaty arms of the Minotaur, and dug the pointed end straight into its furry ribcage. It's arms flailed momentarily as it made an agonized roar, making Stelle's brain rattle in her skull.

It clawed it's chest, and Stelle could feel the warm blood seeping down her arm and onto her skin. The monster began to disintegrate, like crumbling sand, blown away in pieces by the raging wind, the same way Mrs. Dodds had burst apart.

The rain had stopped. The storm still rumbled, but only in the distance. They smelled like livestock and Percy's knees were shaking. His head felt like it was splitting open. He was weak and scared and trembling with grief. He'd just seen his mother vanish.

Stelle clutched the Minotaur horn, stuffing it in her bag. She staggered over to Percy, and they clutched each other with a vice grip, unwilling to let go. They shivered in the cold, drenched to the bone in rainwater.

Percy wanted to lie down and cry, but there was Grover, needing their help, so he managed to haul him up with Stelle and stagger down into the valley, toward the lights of the farmhouse.

He was crying, calling for his mother, but held on to Stelle like his life depended on it- he wasn't going to let her go. 

By the time they made it onto the porch of the farmhouse, Percy collapsed. Stelle let out an exhausted cry and set Grover down. Bursting through the door, came Mr. Brunner and a pretty blonde and black-haired girl, whose hair was braided like a princess.

Stelle was too tired to ask why in the hell her Latin teacher was at this summer camp.

"Mr. Brunner... help... Percy." She gasped out, the stitch in her side throbbing painfully.

"He's the one." The blonde girl said, "He has to be."

"Silence, Annabeth," Mr. Brunner said strictly, "He's still conscious. Bring him inside. Oh, and drag Grover along as well, will you?"

As the stormy-eyed girl with chocolate skin dipped her head and threw Percy over her shoulder roughly, Mr. Brunner turned to look at Stelle. "And you, child... come in, and we'll talk."

"I don't want to talk to you." She said bitingly, hoisting herself to her feet and bringing Grover inside. She didn't know why she was mad at Mr. Brunner, but the stress of the day got to her.

She was tired, angry, miserable, and confused.

Mr. Brunner wheeled behind her as she deposited the satyr on the sofa. When he placed a hand on her shoulder, she turned towards him spitefully. "What do you want?"

"What happened?" Mr. Brunner started carefully, not wanting to provoke her further.

"Stupid bull-man killed my best friend's mom." She pushed past the disabled man, trying to follow the blonde's steps. "Where's Percy? 

The bearded man's eyes crinkled in worry. "Bull-man, you say? And you two slayed the beast?" He searched Stelle's face. "How?"

She reached into her bag and threw the horn at Mr. Brunner, who caught it with ease.. "I'm tired. Save this for when I'm well rested and unlikely to attack a crippled man."

The girl with braided hair came back, Percy-less. "I can help with that. Come with me." She disappeared through a doorway, leaving Stelle to follow.

Her legs ached, and her arms felt like lead. The small stretch of hallway seemed to go on forever, and Stelle had to use the wall for support. Every once and a while, she almost tripped over her own feet.

As the girl that she followed pushed open a door to a bedroom, she waited until Stelle was inside, then slammed the door behind her. Her gray eyes flashed with a hunger for knowledge, while her mouth twisted into something like a dry smile.

"What do you know?" She rounded on Stelle, who almost fell over right there and then.

"What?" She said, feeling a headache coming on.

"What will happen at the summer solstice?" She said tensely, looking around as if she were afraid someone would hear.

"Hell if I know." Stelle replied, falling onto her bed with a sigh of relief. She coiled inwards, trying to ease the aching she felt everywhere.

The other scowled at her disapprovingly. "You really don't know anything? You're useless then. Maybe the boy..." She trailed off thoughtfully, eyes drifting towards the ceiling.

Stelle watched the fan above her whirl slowly, eyes half-lidded and ready to fall asleep.

"I'm Annabeth. Annabeth Chase. I'll show you around tomorrow. If you wake up." The girl left, shutting off the lights as she went out the door.

Stelle was out like a light the moment she closed her eyes, hoping she wouldn't have to ever wake again.

Another dream.

This time, a sandy-haired boy, face contorted into a dark, bitter sneer.

Grover, desperately unraveling threads.

An obscured face, holding up the sky.

A shifting maze, and the chocolate-skinned girl desperately rifling though pages.

Manhattan.

Manhattan, but it wasn't really Manhattan. Manhattan was always moving, writhing with life and lights and people. This imitation was still, quiet, and left with the lingering dread of wrongness.

She faded in and out of consciousness the entire day. Annabeth had come in a few times, she knew, but left when she saw her. Only when a depressed-looking Grover slid some liquid down her throat, did she feel semi-alright.

The liquid tasted cool, like a smoothie on a summer day. It burst with strawberries and mango and 50 different exotic fruits that she couldn't name. It tasted like relaxing by the beach, sipping a drink with a book in hand.

It made her feel light, at ease. She took a deep breath, settling herself.

"What... is that?" She croaked out.

"Nectar. What did it taste like?" He said, dark bags under his eyes. He looked like death. He was wearing blue jeans, Converse high-tops and a bright orange t-shirt that said CAMP HALF-BLOOD. Just plain old Grover, Not the goat boy.

He was holding a glass, though there wasn't anything in it. He seemed to be chewing something; Stelle got a glimpse of... paper?

"Smoothie. Bunch of different things in it. Tasted really tropical." She answered, sitting up in the bed. Grover nodded wistfully.

"You and Percy... you two saved my life. I-I'm sorry... I'm such a lame satyr. Percy's mom-"

Stelle didn't want to hear that. As she slid out of bed, her knees nearly buckled. "So... I'm gonna assume that this is Camp Half-Blood?"

Grover nodded mutely. They stood in silence for a few moments, Grover avoiding eye-contact and shuffling in place.

"Where's Percy?" Stelle spoke up after a bit.

"He's not awake yet," Grover said, "I'm getting worried."

Stelle spun on her heel to face Grover, touching her heart charm. "Take me to him."

-

When Percy came around for good, there was nothing strange about his surroundings, except that they were nicer than he was used to. He was sitting in a deck chair on a huge porch, gazing across a meadow at green hills in the distance. The breeze smelled like strawberries. There was a blanket over his legs, a pillow behind his neck.

All that was great, but Percy's mouth felt like a scorpion had been using it for a nest. His tongue was dry and nasty and every one of his teeth hurt. 

On the table next to him was a tall drink. It looked like iced apple juice, with a green straw and a paper parasol stuck through a maraschino cherry. 

Stelle, who he didn't see at first, sighed, "Percy. You're awake." The relief in her voice was evident.

"Stelle.." He rasped. She looked uncomfortable, and was wearing an orange shirt. Picking up the glass gingerly, she gave it to him.

"Be careful, don't spill it." Grover walked through the door with a shoebox under his arm. He looked ashamed.

Stelle sat beside him, his hand immediately went to hers. He had to know what was real. Was this just a nightmare?

"Stelle, the Minotaur." He said.

Grover shifted, "Percy, it's not a good idea..."

Stelle looked like she was feeling similarly. A streak of annoyance coursed through Percy. Stelle liked to run from things she didn't want to face, but he didn't. He needed to know. He moved his hand away from hers.

"You've been out for two day. How much do you remember?" Grover said, but clammed up when Percy began to speak again.

"My mom, is she really..." He trailed off, looking expectantly at them.

Grover looked down. So he remembered that.

With a sinking feeling, Percy stared across the meadow. There were groves of trees, a winding stream, acres of strawberries spread out under the blue sky. The valley was surrounded by rolling hills, and the tallest one, directly in front of them, was the one with the huge pine tree on top. Even that looked beautiful in the sunlight.

Why was everything so beautiful? Nothing should be beautiful. His mother was gone. The sky should be crying, the sun should be graying, and nature should be wilting. But it wasn't, and it was beautiful. Why?

"Drink that." Stelle suggested quietly, "The nectar."

Percy stared dubiously at the drink, taking a sip. He recoiled at the taste, because he was expecting apple juice. It wasn't that at all.

It was chocolate-chip cookies. Liquid cookies. And not just any cookies- his mom's homemade blue chocolate-chip cookies, buttery and hot, with the chips still melting. Drinking it, his whole body felt warm and good, full of energy.

His grief didn't go away, but he felt as if his mom had just brushed her hand against his cheek, given him a cookie the way she used to when he was small, and told him everything was going to be okay. 

And suddenly, it tasted like sugar. It wasn't unpleasant, really, but the flavor change was a bit jarring. It had a slight stickiness, like a candy that Percy couldn't quite place. Artificial flavoring gave it a sweet aftertaste. It heated him inside and out, so he set the blanket aside, having no need for it.

"I'm sorry." Grover blurted, sniffling, "I'm the worst satyr in the world. I'm a failure."

He bemoaned, stomping his foot so hard it came off. Actually, the Converse high-top came off. The inside was filled with Styrofoam, except for a hoof-shaped hole. 

"Oh, Styx." He mumbled.

Percy was too desolate to even care that Greek myths were real. All that meant was his mom really had been squeezed into nothingness, dissolved into yellow light. 

Where would he go? Stelle's dad (who didn't like him that much anyways), was hospitable enough, but taking in a kid... that was a different kind of hospitable that he couldn't ask of him.

He refused to live with Smelly Gabe. He would have to do something, join the army, pretend he was seventeen, or something. He was an orphan now.

At least he wasn't alone.

Grover was still sniffling. The poor kid—poor goat, satyr, whatever—looked as if he expected to be hit. 

Stelle said, "But it wasn't your fault."

"Yes it was. I was supposed to protect you two."

"Did my mom ask you to or something?" Percy said, shaking his head.

"No. That's my job. I'm... or was, a keeper." He responded. "Oh, Percy... you should have this."

He set the shoebox on Percy's lap reverently. "We thought you should have it."

Inside the shoe box was the black-and-white Minotaur horn. The base was jagged from being broken off, the tip spattered with dried blood. Percy picked it up. "Why didn't Stelle keep it?"

Grover began stammering something about 'throwing spoils of war', a thought he might've finished had Stelle not cleared her throat.

Stelle took the glass from Percy, setting it on the table and standing up. "Grover, didn't you say some people were waiting for us?"

Percy's legs felt wobbly, trying to walk that far. Grover offered to carry the Minotaur horn, but he held on to it. He'd paid for that souvenir the hard way. He wasn't going to let it go. 

As they came around the opposite end of the house, he caught his breath. 

"It's really pretty." Stelle muttered, staring out.

She was right. They must've been on the north shore of Long Island, because on this side of the house, the valley marched all the way up to the water, which glittered about a mile in the distance. Between here and there, he simply couldn't process everything he was seeing.

The landscape was dotted with buildings that looked like ancient Greek architecture—an open-air pavilion, an amphitheater, a circular arena—except that they all looked brand new, their white marble columns sparkling in the sun. In a nearby sandpit, a dozen high school-age kids and satyrs played volleyball.

Canoes glided across a small lake. Kids in bright orange T-shirts like Grover and Estella's were chasing each other around a cluster of cabins nestled in the woods. Some shot targets at an archery range. Others rode horses down a wooded trail, and, unless he was hallucinating, some of their horses had wings.

Down at the end of the porch, two men sat across from each other at a card table. The dark-skinned girl, Annabeth, was leaning on the porch rail next to them. 

"Hey, that's the girl who gave me popcorn pudding." He said to Stelle.

"What?"

"You know, popcorn pudding."

"No, I don't think I do."

The man facing them was small, but porky. He had a red nose, big watery eyes, and curly hair so black it was almost purple. He looked like those paintings of baby angels- what do you call them, hubbubs? No, cherubs. That's it.

He looked like a cherub who'd turned middle-aged in a trailer park. He wore a tiger-pattern Hawaiian shirt, and he would've fit right in at one of Gabe's poker parties, except Percy got the feeling this guy could've out-gambled even his stepfather. 

"That's Mr. D." Grover murmured to them. "He's the camp director. Be polite. That girl, that's Annabeth Chase. She's just a camper, but she's been here longer than just about anybody. And you already know Chiron..."

Yes, Percy decided. He did know the man in the wheelchair, but as someone else. "Mr. Brunner?"

The Latin teacher turned and smiled at them. His eyes had that mischievous glint they sometimes got in class when he pulled a pop quiz and made all the multiple choice answers B. 

"Ah, it appears we have too many for pinochle. Percy, you mind sitting out?" Mr. Brunner said.

Percy nodded, gaping like a fish.

He offered Stelle a chair to the right of Mr. D, who looked at them  with bloodshot eyes and heaved a great sigh. "Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There. Now, don't expect me to be glad to see you bratty twats."

"Thank you, sir." Stelle said with narrowed eyes. Why was she being so cautious? It was just a drunk dude, Percy deducted.

Percy scooted away a little bit nonetheless. If there was anything Percy learned from living with Gabe, it was how to tell when an adult has been hitting the happy juice. If Mr. D was a stranger to alcohol, he was a satyr. 

"Annabeth?" Mr. Brunner called to the other girl.

She came forward and Mr. Brunner introduced them. "This young lady nursed you back to health, Percy. Annabeth, my dear, why don't you go check on Percy and Estella's bunk? We'll be putting him in cabin eleven for now." 

Annabeth said, "Sure, Chiron."

She was probably their age, maybe a couple of inches taller, and a whole lot more athletic looking. With her dark skin and her braided black hair, she was what Percy thought that she looked like why he was scared of pretty girls. Her eyes completed it.

They were startling gray, like storm clouds; pretty, but intimidating, too, as if she were analyzing the best way to take him down in a fight (that kind of reminded him of Stelle's, just a lot more hostile).

She glanced at the minotaur horn in his hands, then back at him. Percy imagined she was going to say, 'You guys killed a minotaur!' or 'Wow, you're so awesome!' or something like that. 

Instead she said, "You drool when you sleep."

Then she sprinted across the lawn, her blonde hair flying behind her.

Stelle snorted.

"So," Percy said, anxious for a topic change, "You, uh, work here, Mr. Brunner?"

"Not Mr. Brunner." The (ex-) Mr. Brunner said, "I'm afraid that was a pseudonym. You may call me Chiron." 

Stelle's mouth twitched, as she turned to look at Mr. D. She examined him up and down, from his fat face to sandaled toes. Mr. D stared right back, unintimidated and, frankly, unimpressed. He was still shuffling cards.

"Er- Mr. D, does that stand for something?" Percy said, totally confused at this silent stare down.

Mr. D looked at him as if he'd belched loudly. "Young man, names are powerful things. You don't go around using them for no reason."

"Oh. Right... sorry...?"

"I must say, you two, I'm quite glad to see you alive." Chiron/Mr. Brunner broke in, "It's been a long time since I've made a house call to a potential camper. I'd hate to think I've wasted my time."

"Wow. Thanks." Stelle said.

"Wait, house call?"

"My year at Yancy Academy was to instruct you. We have satyrs at most schools, of course,  keeping a lookout. But Grover alerted me as soon as he met you. He sensed you were something special, so I decided to come upstate. I convinced the other Latin teacher to ... ah, take a leave of absence."

Percy let out a cry of triumph and pointed at Stelle. "I told you! I told you that the guy didn't leave just because I set off the sprinkler in his class and ruined all his lesson plans!"

Chiron raised a brow. "Ah, is that why he was so easy to convince?"

Percy shrunk.

Stelle cleared her throat, "You came to Yancy just to teach up?"

Chiron nodded. "Honestly, I wasn't sure about Percy at first. We contact his mother to let her know we were keeping an eye on you in case you were ready for Camp Half-Blood. But you still had so much to learn. Nevertheless, you made it here alive, and that's always the first test."

A brief chill went traveled up Stelle's spine. Was it really safe to stay here?

Safer than out there, her mind told her.

She told her mind to shut up. Her mind refused. Stupid mind.

"Grover, are you playing or not?" Mr. D said impatiently.

"Yes sir!" Grover trembled as he took the fourth chair in the place of Annabeth. Percy didn't see why he would be so afraid of a pudgy little man in a tiger-print Hawaiian shirt. 

Why would any of them be wary by this guy?

"Girl," Mr. D eyed Stelle suspiciously, "You do know how to play pinochle, of course?"

"I do, sir."

Mr. D sniffed approvingly, turning back to the table. "It's one of the greatest games invented next to gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, it's only natural one should know the rules."

Percy said, "Please, Mr. Br- Chiron, why would you go to Yancy Academy just to teach us?"

"I asked the same question." Mr. D muttered.

The camp director dealt the cards. Grover flinched every time one landed in his pile. 

Chiron smiled at him sympathetically, the way he used to in Latin class, as if to let me know that no matter what his average was, he was his star student. He expected him to have the right answer. 

That look always made Percy feel sorry that he ever acted out in Latin.

"She said..." The dark-haired boy remembered his mother's sad eyes, looking out over the sea. "She told me she was afraid to send me here, even though my father had wanted her to. She said that once I was here, I probably couldn't leave. She wanted to keep me close to her."

"Typical. That's how they usually get killed." Mr. D said, "Young lady, are you bidding or not?"

Stelle looked at her deck with a perfect poker face. "I pass."

Mr. D grumbled and bid.

"I'm afraid there's too much to tell." Chiron said, "I'm afraid our usual orientation film won't be sufficient."

"Orientation film?" Percy asked.

"No," Chiron decided, "Well, Percy, you know that your friend Grover is a satyr. You know-" he pointed to the horn in the shoe box- "that you have killed the Minotaur."

Percy interjected, "Actually, it was Stelle who killed the bull-man."

Stelle shot him a smile. She was glad for getting a little credit, even if she did only do something at the very end.

"No small feat, nonetheless. What you may not know is that great powers are at work in your life. Gods—the forces you call the Greek gods—are very much alive."

Percy stared at the others around the table. Stelle seemed to be staring off into space. He was waiting for someone to jump out, yell 'Not!' and everyone to start laughing.

The only thing he got was Mr. D yelling, "Oh, a royal marriage! Trick! Trick!!" He cackled, tallying up his points.

"Mr. D, if you're not gonna eat it, can I have your Diet Coke can?" Grover asked timidly.

"Eh? Oh, alright."

Grover bit a huge shard out of the empty aluminum can and chewed it mournfully in the silence. 

Stelle glanced around, "You're telling me that God is real?"

She didn't believe in things like that. Her family had her religious members, but the vast majority of her entire extended family believed in two things. Hard work and connections. They believed that everything achieved was with their own two hands, not some greater being taking credit for their work.

"Well now, God, capitol G. That's a different matter altogether. We shan't deal with the metaphysical."

"Metaphysical-? You were just talking about-" Percy protested.

"Ah, gods, plural, as in, great beings that control the forces of nature and human endeavors: the immortal gods of Olympus. That's a smaller matter."

Chiron nodded as if he expected it all to just click for them.

"Smaller?" Percy said.

"Yes, quite. The gods we discussed in Latin class."

"Zeus." Percy muttered, "Hera. Apollo. Those guys."

And there it was again- distant thunder on a cloudless day. Stelle stared at her cards and bid. From Chiron's surprised face and Mr. D's disgruntled one, it was quite a lot.

"Young man, I'd really be less casual about throwing some of those names around- Blast it, Eleanor! What in Tartarus do you have in that hand?!" Mr. D said, vexed.

'Eleanor?' Stelle thought.

"But they're stories!" Percy cried, "They're myths; to explain the seasons and lightning and stuff! They're what people believed before science!"

"Science!" Mr. D scoffed. "And tell me Perseus Jackson," He flinched when Mr. D said his real name, which he never told anybody apart from Stelle, "what will people think of your 'science' two thousand years from now?" Mr. D continued.

"Hmm? They will call it primitive mumbo jumbo. That's what. Oh, I love mortals- they have absolutely no sense of perspective. They think they've come so-o-o far. And have they, Chiron? Look at this boy and tell me."

Percy wasn't liking Mr. D much, but there was something about the way he called me mortal, as if... he wasn't. It was enough to put a lump in my throat, to suggest why Grover was dutifully minding his cards, chewing his soda can, and keeping his mouth shut. He suddenly understood why Stelle was sitting so obediently, and why she watched Mr. D like a hawk.

"Percy," Chiron said, "you may choose to believe it or not, but immortal means immortal. Can you imagine that for a moment, never dying? Never fading? Existing, just as you are, for all time?"

He was about to answer, off the top of his head, that it sounded like a pretty good deal, but the tone of Chiron's voice made him hesitate. 

"You mean, whether people believed in you or not." Percy said.

"Exactly," Chiron agreed, "If you were a god, how would you like being called a myth, an old story to explain lightning? What if I told you, Perseus Jackson, that someday people would call you a myth, just created to explain how little boys can get over losing their mothers?"

Percy's heart pounded. He was trying to make me angry for some reason, but he wasn't going to let him. He said, "I wouldn't like it. But I don't believe in gods."

"Oh, you'd better." Mr. D murmured, "Before one of them incinerates you." 

Grover said, "P-please sir, he's just lost his mother, he's in shock."

"A lucky thing, too." Mr. D scoffed, playing a card. "It's bad enough I'm confined to this miserable job, working with boys who don't even believe."

"Aces around. Trump." Stelle called, making Mr. D's face turn nasty-looking.

"Well played." Chiron nodded gravely.

Mr. D waved his hand and a goblet appeared on the table, as if the sunlight had bent, momentarily, and woven the air into glass. The goblet filled itself with red wine. Beneath his breath, he muttered, "I'm too sober for this."

Stelle clenched the cards in her hands, pressing her lips together. She didn't look surprised, just resigned, unlike Percy, whose jaw dropped. Chiron hardly looked up.

"Mr. D," He warned, "your restrictions."

Mr. D looked at the wine and feigned surprise. "Dear me! Old habits, sorry!" He looked to the sky and yelled.

More distant thundering.

Mr. D waved his hand again, and the wineglass changed into a fresh can of Diet Coke. He sighed unhappily, popped the top of the soda, and went back to his card game. 

Chiron winked at them. "Mr. D offended his father a while back, by taking a fancy to a wood nymph who had been declared off-limits."

"A wood nymph." Percy repeated, still staring at the Diet Coke as if it were from outer space.

"Yes," Mr. D confessed, "Father loves to punish me. The first time, prohibition, ghastly! Absolutely horrid ten years! The second time—well, she really was pretty, and I couldn't stay away—the second time, he sent me here. Half-Blood Hill. Summer camp for brats like you. 'Be a better influence,' he told them. 'Work with youths rather than tearing them down.' Ha. Absolutely unfair."

Mr. D sounded about six years old, like a pouting little kid. 

"And..." Percy stammered, "Your father is...?"

"Di immortales, Chiron," Mr. D said. "I thought you taught this boy the basics. My father is Zeus, of course."

Percy ran through D names from Greek mythology. Wine. The skin of a tiger. The satyrs that all seemed to work here. The way Grover cringed, as if Mr. D were his master. How Mr. D was sober, but still reeked of alcohol.

"You're Dionysus." Percy realized, "The god of wine."

Mr. D rolled his eyes. "What do they say these days, Grover? Do the children say, 'Well, duh!'?"

"Y-Yes, Mr. D." Grover stammered.

'No, Mr. D.' Stelle sighed as she played a card.

"Then, well, duh! Did you perhaps think I was Aphrodite?" Mr. D asked.

"You're a god."

"Yes, child." 

"A god. You."

This is why Stelle was atheist. So she didn't have to say a prayer for a drunk, fat man-baby who played pinochle with a horse every time she ate a grape.

(She forgot that she was also playing pinochle with a horse.)

However, when Dionysus turned to look at Percy straight on, and he saw a kind of purplish fire in his eyes, a hint that this whiny, plump little man was only showing him the tiniest bit of his true nature. He saw visions of grape vines choking unbelievers to death, drunken warriors insane with battle lust, sailors screaming as their hands turned to flippers, their faces elongating into dolphin snouts.

Percy knew that if he pushed him, Mr. D would show him worse things. He would plant a disease in his brain that would leave him wearing a strait-jacket in a rubber room for the rest of his life. 

"No. No, sir." He said in a small voice.

Mr. D turned back to his card game. "I believe I tied with Evelyn here."

"Not quite." Chiron set down a straight, tallied the points, and said, "The game goes to me."

Stelle thought Mr. D was going to vaporize Chiron right out of his wheelchair, but he just sighed through his nose, as if he were used to being beaten by the Latin teacher. He got up, and Grover rose, too. 

"I'm tired." Mr. D said, "I think I'll take a nap before tonight's sing-along. But first, Grover, we need to talk, again, about your less-than-perfect performance on this assignment." 

Grover's face beaded with sweat. "Y-Yes sir."

Mr. D looked at us. "Cabin Eleven, Percy Jackson, Estella Guan. And mind your manners."

He swept into the farmhouse, Grover following miserably. 

"Will Grover be okay?" Percy asked immediately after they left.

Chiron nodded, though he looked a bit troubled. "Old Dionysus isn't really mad. He just hates his job. He's been ... ah, grounded, I guess you would say, and he can't stand waiting another century before he's allowed to go back to Olympus."

"So... Mount Olympus is really here, with the palace and all? Or is it in Greece?"

"There's the one in Greece, yes. And then there's the home of the gods, the convergence point of their powers, which did indeed used to be on Mount Olympus. It's still called Mount Olympus, out of respect to the old ways, but the palace moves, Estella, just as the gods do."

"Wait, the gods are in America?" Percy asked.

"Well, certainly. The gods move the heart of the West."

That didn't make sense. Well, it did, if you didn't think about it too hard, but there were different myths as well. Romans hardly counted, because they stole everything from the Greeks, but what of the Norse? Or the Egyptians?

Stelle was lost in her thoughts until Percy pointed out a pivotal question.

"What are you, Chiron? Who... are we?"

Chiron smiled. He shifted his weight as if he were going to get up out of his wheelchair, but they knew that was impossible. He was paralyzed from the waist down. 

"Who are you?" he mused. "Well now, we should get you a bunk in cabin eleven. There will be new friends to meet. And plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. Besides, there will be s'mores at the campfire tonight, and I simply adore chocolate."

And then he did rise from his wheelchair. But there was something odd about the way he did it. His blanket fell away from his legs, but the legs didn't move. His waist kept getting longer, rising above his belt.

At first, Percy thought he was wearing very long, white velvet underwear, but as he kept rising out of the chair, taller than any man, he realized that the velvet underwear wasn't underwear; it was the front of an animal, muscle and sinew under coarse white fur. And the wheelchair wasn't a chair. It was some kind of container, an enormous box on wheels, and it must've been magic, because there's no way it could've held all of him. 

A leg came out, long and knobby-kneed, with a huge polished hoof. Then another front leg, then hindquarters, and then the box was empty, nothing but a metal shell with a couple of fake human legs attached.         

The pair stared, wide-eyed,  at the horse who had just sprung from the wheelchair: a huge white stallion. But where its neck should be was the upper body of their Latin teacher, smoothly grafted to the horse's trunk. 

"Shit." Stelle said, standing and backing up.

"Shit." Percy agreed.

"What a relief," The centaur said, "I've been cooped up in there so long my fetlocks fell asleep. Now, come, Mr. Jackson, Ms. Guan. Let's meet the other campers."